So be Good, for Goodness' Sake: A Holiday Timeline

Preface: This timeline was written and posted between the dates of December 4th and December 24th, 2013 on alternatehistory.com as a holiday special.

North Pole, late 2013

Santa Claus looked over the massive assembly lines that produced the toys that would be distributed at Christmas Eve of this year. It was sweltering hot inside, especially in the furry wool coat that living so far north in the world mandated, but he did not bother taking it off; doing so would subject him to the blistering cold that was outside the factory.

He turned to the elf overseeing the assembly line. Before making his statement, his mind flickered to the days so many centuries ago where all of this was made by hand at a much slower pace. The industrial revolution had a good side, the denizens of the North Pole believed: it helped in the spreading of joy to even more children worldwide.

"Mr. Giftmaker!" exclaimed the jolly old man.

"Yes, Mr. Claus?" replied Clarence Giftmaker, an elf most trusted by Claus - if he were not, he would be down in the sweltering heat of the assembly lines making toys, rather than surveying everything from his nest above.

"How goes production? Last I heard, we were not at quota. Is this still the case, Mr. Giftmaker?"

"We've met quota and exceeded it, Mr. Claus!" exclaimed Giftmaker, obviously eager to please. "We'll be more than ready when Christmas comes around!"

"Be sure to do that, Mr. Giftmaker. If you do and this year's batch succeeds, I'll make sure you and your workers get a good share of the milk and cookies the day after Christmas - and some of the beer as well."

Giftmaker laughed. "Some parents are savvy, aren't they? Sometimes we just need something more potent than milk."

"Of course you do, I'm certain. On another note, how goes this year's demographic metadata collection? We need an up-to-date list on who lives where so we can assign the right gifts to the right children."

"Very good, Mr. Claus, sir! Data collection has gone on quite swimmingly, and we have a gigantic cache of such information for your trip on the twenty-fourth. "

Claus smiled contentedly. "Thank you, Mr. Giftmaker This year's Christmas season will be wonderful."

As if on cue, the building's intercom sounded its beep. The elf manning the speaker announced "Mr. Claus, please report to administration and reception. You have visitors."

"Visitors?" Giftmaker asked. "We rarely get visitors up here, and besides, we have international treaties guarding us from the knowledge of the average person. It's what has kept us clandestine all these years!"

It was true. In 1945, Santa Claus signed a treaty with the governments of Canada, the United States, Denmark, the United Kingdom, Norway, and the Soviet Union in which they ensured the secrecy of Claus' operations on the North Pole in exchange for gifts for their populations to continue despite the brooding Cold War.

"I guess I better see them. No point in denying them." Claus, without saying another word, headed towards Administration and Reception.

Once in his office and the habitual greetings towards his elves, he encountered his guests: four men, two in the regalia of some sort of government agency (they were different agencies, however - there was a distinct difference in design), two in the uniforms of what Claus recognized as the United States Marine Corps.

"Mr. Claus," said one. "My name is Jonathan Malton. I represent the United States National Security Agency."

The other stated, "and I am Nathan MacKillop, representative of the Canadian Department of Foreign Affairs, Trade, and Development. We are here to discuss important topics that will be necessary for a continued mutually beneficial between the North Pole on one hand and the United States of America and Dominion of Canada on the other."

"What are these? You aren't telling me the old agreement isn't valid anymore?" Claus inquired, quite nervous. "It was agreed in 1945 that the treaty lasted for a century!"

"Not annulment," stated Malton, "but renegotiation and addition."

"Go on," said Claus. "I'm certain that there is a way our interests can be met."

"Mr. Claus," Malton elaborated, "in order to continue combatting terrorism worldwide, the National Security Agency has deemed it necessary to access your database on the world's households regarding residency and interests. You have the world's top source on such data, Mr. Claus, and it is of the utmost importance that our analysts gain access to it. The sake of the world's safety is in your hands."

Before Claus could respond, MacKillop began his justification for coming. "Under orders of the Canadian government in Ottawa and in accordance of this government's claim of the North Pole as Canadian territory, I must ask that you acknowledge this claim. You are now on Canadian ice, pardon the pun, and you must make the proper registration with the government. I am authorized to call in the use of force if necessary. An attack on Canadian soil would force us to invoke the charter of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. Trust me, Mr. Claus; that is something that is far from desirable for you."

Claus was dumbfounded. This went against the treaty!

"I refuse to submit to you demands. The sovereignty of the North Pole will not be infringed. Now, go! Tell your governments that I will have no more business with them until they come to their senses!"

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Two days after the previous encounter

Santa Claus anxiously viewed the television that was perched atop a shelf in his office. He was worried; the past days after the meeting with the representatives from the US and Canada were distressing. Would they truly reveal him to the world? Would they realize that this is not a myth, not some trick to make children obedient during the time before Christmas?

He turned to the BBC, his favorite channel (he thought it was better than anything the Americans had). He hoped that his existence would be dismissed as a mere practical joke, much like the White House's response to those who wanted the construction of a Death Star.

A shiver went down his spine when the news reporting became apparent to him. The news anchor, a tall man with dark hair and the expected suit and tie (in this case a red and blue striped one) began speaking.

"Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper today announced that Santa Claus, long thought to be a myth, does indeed exist, and lives on the North Pole. In accordance with the recent claim by the Canadian government, Santa's Workshop is located within Canadian territorial waters. In an official statement, Harper hinted at a possible current strained relation between the North Pole and the Canadian Government."

Claus was outraged. This was not a part of the treaty! He had met with Harper in 2006 and promised he would uphold that longstanding agreement. He had done the same in 2008 with President Obama.

The broadcast continued:

"Also today, White House Press Secretary Jay Carney affirmed the existence of Santa Claus and stated the recent Canadian announcement was indeed factually accurate. Carney also revealed the existence of Operation Partridge, the government program that funded the various mall Santas that Americans are familiar with to protect Santa Claus' identity, and that Claus' codename was 'French Hen.'

In addition to Operation Partridge, Carney also revealed that the famous 'NORAD Tracks Santa' was an accurate representation of Claus' whereabouts as a way to inform him of inhospitable weather patterns, military testing, and other things that he may want to avoid. "

Claus shook his head. The world would now know. He would no longer be able to spread joy anonymously (although he was happy that he would no longer have to give megacorporations credit).

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The next day

The North Pole's elves had, under their master's orders, to begin a program monitoring the news for any stories related to their operations at the North Pole. Most of it was trivial: somebody saying they found the North Pole facilities on Google Earth, bits and pieces of sleighs that were lost on one of Claus' previous rounds.

Santa Claus spent most of that day pouring over his elves' findings, led by another one of his deputies and skillful communicator, Cornelius Candycane. Candycane was in Claus' office when a particularly inflammatory news title came up, from the Guardian:

New Snowden Leaks Reveal NSA, GCHQ Spied on Santa Claus, other important North Pole figures

Edward Snowden yesterday released documents saying the NSA and GCHQ, in cooperation with other agencies of the United States and United Kingdom governments, begun spying on Santa Claus shortly after the September 11 attacks as a form of counterterrorist activity."

Claus and Candycane stopped there. Claus bellowed, "Those traitors! We had an agreement that they would not reveal my existence, and now they've been spying on me!"

He let out an enraged roar.

Candycane turned to him. "Mr. Claus, in normal times I would not advise this course of action, but these are hardly normal times. You're used to acting in a clandestine manner; you can do so no longer. It is necessary, for the good of the North Pole and the good of humanity, that you go out into the world and make your voice heard. Use your prestige to your advantage! Talk with the great digital rights activists, philanthropists, and sympathetic politicians. Talk to the international press. The world needs you, sir. Will you let our sovereignty be threatened? Will you let the world stand for this?"

Santa Claus nodded. He would.

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February 6th, 1945, over the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic, Union of Soviet Socialist Republics

The sleigh, pulled through the air by the team of nine reindeer, led by Rudolph with his shining red nose, drifted through the frigid airs of Ukraine. Santa Claus felt satisfied with his decision to hire Rudolph in 1940; his bright red mutation on his nose proved invaluable in navigating through the German bombing campaigns over Britain, avoiding the dreary possibility of a collision.

It was this light over Britain that got him involved in this war in the first place. Candycane, his deputy, had advised against this, but his conscience simply prohibited him from remaining neutral. A British Spitfire had sighted him over Manchester during the raids before Christmas and contacted him; he met with various British higher-ups in the following days and agreed to cease any shipments of presents to the Axis powers during the war. His support had not stopped there; he and several of his elves covertly provided supplies to resistance movements (there were multiple sleighs and many, many reindeer).

There had been some awareness of his existence during the war, which had been commemorated in songs and rampant rumors. That is why he was coming here, to Yalta: to negotiate the status of his operation after the cessation of conflict. He wanted a promise of secrecy from the Allied powers, specifically those with territory in the Arctic Circle. It was rare when he got out the sled and reindeer outside of Christmas time; it was even rarer when he interfered in human conflicts. Therefore, this meeting to him was quite important.

A crackle emitted from the radio issued him by the British, which he had subsequently mounted on his sleigh. A voice came through, speaking in Russian, "Unidentified aircraft, what kind of cookies do you want?" He used the code words. Good, thought Claus.

"Chocolate chip," he replied, in Russian - he learned several languages over his travels, Russian among them.

"Good," said the voice from the radio. "We will be visible on both left and right sides. Follow us to Yalta and you will be escorted to the Livadia Palace where Roosevelt, Churchill, and Stalin are meeting."

Two Yak-1s of the Soviet Air Force became visible on either side. They took the lead some to guide him. Claus followed, anxious to meet these esteemed leaders.

After an hour or so of flying, the two Yaks began descending. This signaled they were about to land, and so Claus ordered his reindeer to do the same. The two planes skidded across the landing pad, and the sleigh came to a gentle stop as Claus gave them orders to do so.

Claus clambered out of the sled. "Thank you, Rudolph, for guiding us. You have helped secure the fate of the free world. and I owe you a great debt."

Rudolph chuckled. "I told you I wanted to serve, and so I did. No problem, sir."

Santa departed, leaving his reindeer to do as they wish. He knew this team very well; these reindeer, unlike most, could talk, and as such more ideas could be shared.

Two Soviet guards arrived, rifles at their shoulders, to greet him. They saluted him, and Claus returned the gesture. Claus did not have a high opinion of the Soviet regime, but he saw the necessity of cooperating with them - Britain and America could not win this war alone, and they needed an ally. He sympathized with Churchill's words; he would make a favorable reference to the Devil in his council of elves if it came to that.

"Mr. Claus, I apologize of this bothers you, but this Christmas, can you make sure my mother doesn't starve? The Germans did a number on our home, and father died in the invasion. Her and my sisters are famished. I can supply for a while, but come that day can you bring them something nice?" The soldier, one of the two guards, blushed.

"Yes," said Claus, becoming quite emotional at this. This invasion was brutal beyond words, more brutal than any other conflict he had borne witness to. "But I'll need to know your name, young man."

The soldier replied, "Stepan Sokolov, sir. I'm from Leningrad."

"I can figure out addresses myself. Now don't you worry, I'll have something nice for her."

They walked into the palace in silence, meeting other guards along with them. Claus heard at least one remark, "he looks like Stalin, but older!" He had no response to that.

Eventually, he came to the room he was meant to be in. There sat Winston Spencer-Churchill, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and Joseph Stalin.

"Mr. Claus," exclaimed Roosevelt, rolling his wheelchair towards Claus, and extended his hand to him. Claus shook it, and Churchill and Stalin obliged and did the same. "It is an honor to meet the man who has been assisting the United Nations against this threat to liberty worldwide."

"Indeed he has," stated Churchill, smiling, "indeed he has. He has brought so much joy to our children, and to adults, too!"

Stalin stared at Claus coldly. "As they have said, your support has been most valued."

"Thank you," replied Claus. "I'm certain you've received my demands."

Churchill nodded his head, "yes, we have, but it is best that you go over them once more in case we have forgotten.

Claus agreed, but the thought of their forgetfulness vaguely annoyed him. He had to remind himself that they were fighting the most destructive war in human history; not every treaty term could be remembered off the top of their heads.

"Firstly, I demand that the governments of the Soviet Union, United States, and Great Britain recognize my right to have my existence shielded from the general public, and that disinformation campaigns will be undertook to ensure that my existence and service to your cause remains myth and not fact. The new governments of Denmark and Norway must sign onto this agreement as well, and Canada, a British dominion, will sign as will the British.

Secondly, I want unrestricted rights to distribute presents around Christmastime in the new countries of Europe, whether they fall under British-American spheres or Soviet spheres, or remain neutral.

Thirdly, I desire your new United Nations organization to safeguard me from public knowledge.

Fourthly, I promise to continue gift distribution for both sides.

I am certain such terms will be honored by all sides."

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December 2013

Santa Claus left the hangar designated for his sleigh in Stockholm Arlanda Airport, Stockholm, Sweden, anxious to meet the international press. In an agreement with Prime Minister Reinfeldt, Claus would make his first public appearance in Sweden. He considered his previous agreements with Sweden and the European Union now void; the world now knew. It would be of the utmost necessity to talk to the press to clear his name and tell the world of the affronts to his dignity and sovereignty.

He entered the room he was told to enter, and there, beyond a series of poles usually used for making lines for people to get something at a ticket booth or some such, stood several journalists. He was not used to dealing with the press; he rarely took interviews with the outside world, but this was hardly a normal time.

"Good morning," he declared to the press. "As you can plainly see, I'm Santa Claus, the man who brought many of you presents. Feel free to ask me anything regarding the current situation between me and the US - the world needs to know."

A reporter from the BBC came up to him and asked, "What exactly did the Americans and Canadians want from you? Prime Minister Harper hinted at a poor relationship between Ottawa and Washington on one hand and the North Pole on the other."

"As you may know," Claus remarked, "Canada has recently claimed the North Pole as Canadian territorial waters. An agent reporting to me under the authority of the Canadian foreign ministry demanded I recognize Ottawa's sovereignty over my territory, something which I wholeheartedly refuse to do. The United States, represented by an agent from their National Security Agency, demanded access to my database of residencies and interests for the sake of continued mass surveillance. I believe in the right to privacy and as such I will not yield to their demands. This is why Harper and Obama are now denouncing me."

Another reporter, this one from Der Spiegel, asked another question, "This means you admit conducting mass surveillance yourself?"

The crowd gasped.

"I must so I can give you presents every Christmas season," replied Claus. "You, sir, what is your name, and where are you from?"

"My name is Eckbert Schwenke, and I'm from Leipzig."

Claus replied, "When you were six, for Christmas I got you one of the books you wanted from the library but never could be truly yours beforehand."

Eckbert's mouth rose to a smile. "So you remember everyone you give presents to?"

"Every one."

Amidst an exciting murmur, a reporter from Le Nouvel Observateur asked, "What is your opinion on the mass surveillance recently revealed, especially on yourself?"

"It is my opinion, and the opinion of most of my elves, that this is a flagrant violation of the rights of the world's population and completely unwarranted, no pun intended. Edward Snowden is a hero to this world and does not deserve the fugitive status he has. I refuse to be isolationist any longer. The world needs to fight back, and I will do whatever is necessary to aid in the good fight."

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Cornelius Candycane, Santa Claus' foremost helper, sat in the desk with the computer that he used to run the North Pole. It was odd being in charge; Claus had said he would be gone for a week, much longer than a trip worldwide on Christmas Eve. This was the longest he was gone since the Second World War, a conflict Candycane remembered very well.

Candycane was notable in North Pole political circles for being incredibly isolationist, supporting a policy of utterly no interaction with governments not signatory to the agreement signed at Yalta in February of 1945. Claus rarely heeded him; he did not do so in World War II and he did not do so now. Nevertheless, Candycane had known Claus for centuries and as such was incredibly trusted.

He was doing the normal routine of administration when the alert siren came bursting through the silence. An announcer screamed through the intercom, "Attention! Attention! Mining Facility 3 has been ignited by an unknown source! All administrators and emergency services are to report there immediately!"

Candycane was incensed. What could cause this? It seemed as if the CIA caused it given the circumstances, but in all likelihood it was just an accident.

He left the compound and entered his personal sleigh. Mining Facility 3, one of the several facilities tasked with mining the coal that went into the stockings of naughty children, was not far, so he did not bother taking flight. He only told the reindeer pulling to go quickly.

He arrived. The facility was in flames. The flagpole that bore the flag of the North Pole, a green-white-green horizontal tricolor with red stripes in between the green and white, with a green silhouette of an evergreen tree in the center topped with a golden star, was bent and turned orange due to the heat, and what appeared to be the remnants of the flag were black residue on the white ground.

In the distance, he heard chanting. Over the chanting, a speaker.

He had heard this speaker before.

This speaker's name was Vincent Evergreen, a radical elf who had made his way onto the North Pole legislature via popular election. His campaign was based upon ceasing the distribution of presents on Christmas Day. He felt elves were a nation in and of themselves and did not need to act as servants of humanity. However, Evergreen had never espoused violence before, but his ringing, quite distinctive voice was familiar to all who heard it.

"And now," rang the voice in the facility, "let all of elf-kind sing of its own liberation from the despotism of Santa Claus and the establishment of a new Elvish state, the Sovereign Republic of the North Pole, and labor to benefit itself and its own people, not those who care little of us, who rarely even know of our existence!"

A thunderous applause was heard for miles.

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Cornelius Candycane, Santa Claus' foremost helper, was awestruck at the thronging speech he heard in the ruins of Mining Facility 3. Vincent Evergreen, the renowned elven radical, had declared a war against the Christmas spirit, against Santa Claus. Candycane reached for his belt, on which was strapped the emergency radio communicator that every elf higher-up was required to have.

He barked into it, "Attention all defenders of the North Pole who are still loyal to Santa Claus, come to Mining Facility 3 at once! Evergreen has shown his true colors - that of rebellion! He has used this opportunity to attempt to overthrow our leader and establish his own illegitimate state!"

Within minutes, the clop-clop of reindeer hooves began echoing through the frigid air. The armored sleighs, equipped with RPGs, AA guns, mortars, machine guns, and various other weapons gained through both domestic manufacturing and foreign agreements - agreements that had begun in the 1940s to defend against a possible Axis assault on the North Pole (there had been one attempt), and had been updated as the decades had passed.

Accompanying the weapon sleighs were the APC-sleighs, large iron frames pulled by reindeer, with firing ports on the sides of the base. Out of them clambered the members of the North Pole Infantry Corps, rifles at the ready.

One of them came up to Candycane and offered him a rifle of the same grade as his. "Mr. Candycane, the name's Chauncey Ornamenter, Sergeant in the NPIC. I was told you may want to be to join in the action."

"Oh, yes, yes I would!" exclaimed Candycane, eagerly taking the rifle out of Ornamenter's hands.

Candycane had served in the NPIC during the Cold War, guarding against what they perceived as threats to Claus' efforts. Some members of the NPIC would come along with the sleigh for the past few decades to guard against those that may try to shoot him down over crisis areas. They'd shoot back against AA guns and rockets to dissuade them. Whether they'd killed anyone was unknown.

The brave soldiers of the NPIC marched towards the facility, with the mortar sleighs mounting suppression fire. The clang of metal collapsing was heard for miles, and Candycane covered his ears.

They came to a clearing. Here, atop an overseer's nest, was Evergreen, his adherents in a crowd below. Their flag, a red banner with, ironically enough, a yellow candy cane, crossed with a fireplace prong, together displayed in the canton, hung from a pole behind him (the banner reminded Candycane of the flag of the old Soviet Union). The grand oratory ceased, and Evergreen peered down to see the new intruder.

"Cornelius Candycane," spat Evergreen from his makeshift pulpit. "You represent the last vestige of an archaic order, the order of toil without reward, that should have perished in the nineteenth century! It has been in the world's collective philosophy that all peoples have rights to self-determination. This includes elves. What, then, do you have to say to respond to this, Candycane?"

The crowd cheered, before Evergreen motioned for them to silence themselves. "Let the bourgeois speak."

Candycane obliged. "We have been tasked with the grand endeavor of bringing joy to the world's children around Christmastime. Do you dare spit in the face of that great task?"

"Why, yes, Mr. Candycane, yes, yes I do. Yes, we all do!" rasped Evergreen, his voice crescendoing to a scream by the end. The ruined extraction facility erupted in a roar of approval.

"Now, good elves of the North Pole, open fire on them! Death to those who oppress us!"

Seemingly from nowhere, armored sleighs slathered in red paint, obviously stolen from a North Pole armory, came from the shadows and opened fire with machine guns.

"Take cover!" yelled the loyalist commander.

All of the loyalist ducked behind wreckage. Some, armed with RPGs, fired back.

"Attention mortar sleighs," said Candycane into his radio, "fire on Mining Facility 3! We need suppression fire!"

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The elves outside the facility aimed their mortars at the facility. WHOOSH! they whirred out of their guns, the impact being quite audible.

In the distance, on the seas, a ship became apparent in the water. Above it seemed to be a red flag.

"Red means the rebels, right?" asked one of the mortar elves.

"Yeah," said another.

"Should we fire on that ship? Looks like a North Pole Navy ship prepping to fire!"

The second, a commander, gazed at it with his periscope.

"Damned right it is. All mortars, fire on the ship."

The mortar sleighs reoriented, and let fire a torrent of death on whatever rebel would be unlucky enough to be below it.

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The HMCS Algonquin drifted through the waters of the North Pole. A missile carrier, it held military officials ready to meet with North Pole authorities regarding Canadian sovereignty over the region. On its mast flew the Maple Leaf flag, with two red stripes on each side and the red maple leaf prominently on it.

It saw great balls of fire be shot into the air.

Fireworks, they thought. They were celebrating a new era of relations, thought the men aboard. How odd.

Except they weren't fireworks.

Within minutes, the HMCS Algonquin sank beneath the Arctic ocean.

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Santa Claus took out the cell phone that he had purchased some years back as a method of communication with the North Pole from his belt. It was after his interview in Stockholm; the next stop was Berlin.

He dialed the secret number that connected him with the North Pole, specifically the personal cell phone of his deputy Candycane. He lifted it to his ears. It rang some, and then he heard the sound of explosions going off everywhere.

It seriously worried him. "Cornelius?! What's going on? Are you safe?"

Candycane responded in a hushed voice. "I'm in mining facility three. You remember that upstart councilman, Evergreen?"

"Yes, yes I do," replied Claus. "Never liked him much. What's going on over there?"

"He's leading a rebellion. He's wrecked this mining facility and gained control of several armored sleighs. He has a substantial portions of the elves up here loyal to him, and currently I'm under fire by their forces. I ordered mortar strikes to take him out, but he seems to have fled and left his foot soldiers behind to take care of me."

Claus was dumbstruck. In all of his years he had never thought that there would be armed rebellion! He thought there was a genuine commitment to making people happy!

"Candycane, hold out. I'm cancelling my plans with the press. I'll take the sleigh and be back there shortly."

After twenty or so minutes after the call and making his way back to the hangar, he got in his sleigh and ordered his reindeer to head to the North Pole.

"Something going on back home, boss?" inquired Rudolph.

"Rebellion. That idiot Evergreen has blown up one of our coal facilities and as such has incurred my wrath. Back to the North Pole. Berlin can wait."

They took off into the air.

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Spangdahlem Air Base, Spangdahlem, Rhineland-Palatinate, Germany - under the United States European Command

David J. Julazadeh, Colonel, United States Air Force, was bored. He sat there at his desk, doing paperwork. Yes, they needed munitions and food. No big surprise.

The telephone on his desk rang, and he picked it up. "Colonel Julazadeh here. Who is this?"

"This is from Fort Meade, Maryland, with authorization from the President himself. I trust you are aware of our current situation with Santa Claus?"

'Yes, yes I am," replied Julazadeh. "What has he done now?"

"Claus' own forces have destroyed a Canadian vessel, the HCMS Algonquin, while carrying diplomats to negotiate with him. Prime Minister Harper has invoked Article V of the NATO charter. Since he is now a hostile authority, you are to send fighters to intercept his sleigh over Sweden - he is heading to the North Pole as we speak."

"How do you know this?" inquired Julazadeh.

"The Federal Bureau of Investigation has been wiretapping his personal telecommunications for some time. Our analysts have pinpointed his location here at Fort Meade. Intercept him."

"Yes, Sir," responded the Colonel.

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Santa Claus shivered in the cold of Scandinavia as he flew over it. The energies propagated by the reindeer were fast, but nevertheless the journey took more time than he wished. He wanted to end this rebellion back home; he had several meetings with important figures scheduled.

"Um, Mr. Claus," asked Donner, "do you hear something from the back?"

Claus looked behind the sleigh.

There were two F-16s of the US Air Force fast approaching.

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Santa Claus was deeply distressed by the sight of the two F-15s chasing his sleigh over the coast of Sweden. The biting cold only added to the feeling of discomfort, the cold, the terror of flight, and the possibility of losing his home to either elven revolutionaries or the forces of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization was sobering.

From one of the jets blared a speaker, apparently specially equipped:

"Attention, Santa Claus, you are to come with us back to Spangdahlem Air Force Base in Germany to be taken into custody for your crimes against the Dominion of Canada and by extension its allies in NATO. Be prepared to be put down any weapons that you may have, for you will be surrendering them once we are there. If you do not begin moving south, we are authorized to use deadly force if necessary."

Claus' anger grew exponentially. They had the arrogance to dethrone him, Santa Claus, the giver of gifts to all at Christmastime, and place him under their human custody! He would not yield.

He was acquainted with the world political situation, and came to the conclusion that there was only once place to go to get assistance. Candycane could deal with things in the North Pole himself; Claus knew he was competent. This one country would not stand for the blatant acts of aggression from the West, a country that had a claim to the North Pole just as Canada did.

The Russian Federation.

He cracked his whip, and yelled, "all of you, we aren't going home for now! Head east, to St Petersburg!"

The reindeer veered to the right, the chill of the tundra wind nearly paralyzing him, but he held firm. The airborne sleigh accelerated to a breakneck speed, causing the world to be distorted around him. Russia, no matter how much he disagreed with their policies, would be his refuge, at least temporarily.

He heard the jets accelerate. Such was expected, but he felt he could outrun them. The true speed of this sleigh was only ever fully exploited on Christmas Eve, and now was no exception. At this altitude, he would be in St. Petersburg shortly.

Missiles fired from their compartments on the planes, and began chasing the sleigh. Homing missiles!

Minute after grueling minute past.

Would he survive?

He felt heat. Saw light. Then cold and white. Pain. Screaming.

It had hit him, and he was now lost in the Russian tundra.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A piercing noise woke him up that morning. That, and the smell of detritus. Many of his beloved reindeer had died in the crash, or the explosion.

The piercing noise was his cellular phone ringing. He answered it, hoisting his arm to his ear. "Who is it?" He asked.

The voice was in Russian. "I guess it does not surprise you that we have been monitoring your calls much like the United States has, and that we have been tracking your position via radar."

Claus grimaced. Another agency spying on him? "It does not surprise me at all."

"Well then," replied the voice, "then be prepared. Very shortly, a helicopter will be landing to take you to Moscow. President Putin would like to speak to you personally."

Claus looked up to the sound of whirling rotors. On the copter was the white, blue, and red star of the Russian Air Force, waiting for him.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Santa Claus, recently awoken, trudged through the halls of the Kremlin Senate in Moscow. Here, he was to meet Vladimir Putin, President of the Russian Federation.

Santa Claus had met Putin before in treaty discussions; he did not like the Russian leader. His policies he saw as autocratic and more often than not discriminatory, such as his recent policies towards homosexuals.

Nevertheless, his home was at stake by the Western powers which up until now Claus had regarded as more humane, more reasonable. He would make a deal with the devil to protect his home if necessary, and Putin fulfilled a similar role. Claus would make said deal.

He knocked on the door he was told to go to by a guard. "Come in," said a voice in Russian. It was Putin. It had to be.

Claus opened the door, and there was a desk, and behind that a large swivel chair, with its back currently towards him. Slowly, it rotated to reveal Putin himself, glancing coldly at he who brought joy to little children every Christmas season. "Mr. Claus, it is a pleasure to meet you. I trust the air force has ensured you are safe and sound?"

"They have," Claus responded. "Your accommodations are more than sufficient, Mr. Putin. We have little time for idle chatter. What will you do to gain back my home from the Canadians, and by extension NATO?"

Putin's mouth ever so slowly curved upward into the smallest of smiles. "It's simple. We announce to the world that Russia is defending you, and we send a battleship or two to the North Pole to make the claim, and Obama, Cameron, and Harper subsequently back down at the threat of war. Their public balked on Syria, and do you really think they would want a war with the bringer of toys to little children?"

"And what if they do attack before then, Mr. Putin?" Claus inquired. "What will you do?"

"Perhaps the occasional potshot, but they do not have the will to do so. If anything, it'll become the next Vietnam or Korea: a proxy war. Between us funding your loyalists and NATO funding that Evergreen fellow."

"You know about the ongoing civil war up there? How?"

"Do you honestly think the Federal Security Service has not been monitoring things up there? The Americans were monitoring your telephone, after all."

Claus grimaced. He felt ... stupid. Stupid for not foreseeing this possibility. "I suppose you're right."

There was another knock on the door to Putin's office. "Come in!" Putin called.

In walked a young man, early thirties, Claus would guess, with brown hair, a short beard, and glasses.

Putin smiled, got up, and walked so that he was near both Claus and the new entry. "Mr. Snowden, it is an honor to have you here. Mr. Claus, this here is the famed Edward Snowden, the leaker you have expressed admiration for."

Snowden blushed. "I never anticipated that I would ever meet the real Santa Claus, especially after the revelation of Operation Partridge. Just another example of government disinformation." He snickered.

Claus extended his arm to Snowden, and they shook hands. "It is an honor to meet a hero such as yourself. You have revealed a great crime against the international community and as such you prove your nobility."

"I'm neither hero nor traitor, Mr. Claus. I'm American."

"And you are a good one. Your nation is a great one."

"As is yours, sir, as is yours," replied Snowden.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The next day, in the afternoon

Santa Claus prepared for his next press conference, this one in Moscow. He did this with Putin's permission. He knew fully well of Putin's plans to use him as a tool in the great game of diplomacy. It didn't matter. He wanted a free and independent North Pole. As he had affirmed to himself before, he would make a deal with the devil if necessary.

He was outside the Kremlin gates, and the reporters were coming. It was just like Sweden, just without the comfort of the indoors.

He heard a voice in the mob. "Excuse me, thank you, excuse me," the voice murmured. Slowly but surely, the crowd came to a still, and the voice came closer to him.

Out of the mob came an old man, with whitening hair and a cane. "Mr. Claus," he said feebly. "For decades I have wanted to say thank you to you in person. I finally can now."

"Who are you, sir?" Claus inquired. He knew he had seen this man before. In what situation he was not sure, but definitely he had.

"My name is Stepan Sokolov. We met at Yalta." The man coughed, but looked up again.

"Stepan ... I thought you were from St. Petersburg!" It was him. The young Soviet soldier that had welcomed him to the conference with Roosevelt, Stalin, and Churchill.

"I am, but I moved here several years ago for employment. When Putin announced this in the news I knew I had to come and say thank you. Without you, my family would have starved to death in the winter of 1945 and 1946. I owe you so much. You have done wonderful things for me. I wish you the best in your quest."

The crowd of reporters let out the "aww" sound when something insufferably cute occurs. Then, there was a cheer.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Ottawa, Canada

Stephen Harper, Prime Minister of the Dominion of Canada, went up to the front of the beautiful chamber that was the meeting area for the Canadian House of Commons. The Commons, the legislature of this great nation, formed through union of several provinces of two distinct cultures, was the decider of the fate of the Canadian people. Here, he would make an announcement.

That Canada's sovereignty would not be threatened. Not by Santa Claus, not by Putin, not by anyone.

The entirety of commons was in the chamber - it was known that this would be an important speech. About what, precisely, was known only to Harper.

It surprised Harper that the nation had held together so long. Quebecois and Anglo-Canadians had been so different, and yet here they shared a legislature. It overwhelmed him, gave him a sense of pride in the true north, strong and free.

He began to speak. "Good morning, good legislators of the Dominion of Canada."

The subdued chatter of MPs quickly quieted. The only noise was a faint murmur. Camerapeople manned the news cameras for the public to see - this was a very, very important occasion and the public had to know.

"As you may know, Canada's national security is being threatened. Our claim to the North Pole as Canadian waters is being delayed by a man whose sole claim is that he has a workshop up there. His acts are among the noblest ever seen by mankind. Nevertheless, he stands between Canada and a boon to global trade due to the pettiest of reasons.

He has demonstrated his distaste of us by destroying a ship bearing our diplomats, willing to find a peaceful solution. Here, he shows his commitment to this lack of reason.

He has taken refuge in Russia, a nation whose regime is morally questionable. As I said, his intentions are noble, but this hiding behind such a power provides detriment to his cause and his credibility. President Putin has guaranteed that he will defend the North Pole in case we attack.

If that is the case, so be it. The murder of diplomats is one of the most heinous crimes one can commit on the international stage. We will defend our sovereignty by force.

As we speak, ships of the Royal Canadian Navy are approaching the North Pole to make our presence known. They are instructed to not fire first. However, if they are attacked, they will fire back.

President Obama, Prime Minister Cameron, and Secretary General Rasmussen have all promised support for Operation Christmas Joys. Drone flyovers have been promised and will be going active in case we are attacked. "

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Stephen Harper was tired as he sat in the windowed room of 24 Sussex Drive in the New Edinburgh neighborhood of Ottawa. It was cold; too cold. It was like that every winter, and was blistering hot every summer. Such was the problem with a century-old house.

He heard something outside the window. He didn't think it was much. Probably just a conversation outside the house.

But it became rhythmic.

"Up on the housetop, reindeer pause,
Out jumps good old Santa Claus!
Down through the chimney with lots of toys,
All for the little ones, Christmas Joys!"

Singing? Christmas carols? Why?

He glanced out of the window.

These were not just carolers, they were ... protestors.

They were bearing signs, saying

"No, No, No to the War on Christmas!"

"Not another war!"

"Free Santa Claus!"

"Stop spying on Gift Givers!"

"You're a mean one, Mr. Harper!"

The last had Harper caricatured as the Grinch from the immortal book and cartoon.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Cornelius Candycane entered the office that he and Santa Claus worked in during normal times. However, this was far from normal times. Here, he would have to meet with the Elven Council, the legislature that Claus called forth on occasion to deal with whatever pressing subjects that made themselves apparent. Elf labor, supplies, the rare foreign intervention all made themselves pressing; the first was something they had dealt with quite obviously insufficiently.

He unlocked the lock that led to the chamber. The chamber was in essence a safe large enough to contain a legislature. In it was a large table, filled to the brim with all but two seats occupied. One belonged to Candycane. The other belonged to Evergreen, and he would obviously not be attending this meeting considering he was undertaking armed rebellion.

He took his seat between two other eminent elves: Clarence Giftmaker, one of Claus' overseers, and Claudius Bellringer, his Minister of Defense. Bellringer was often considered to be a radical, cold in essence and in thought, cold as the frigid ice of the North Pole.

The meeting was called to order. Bellringer spoke, addressing Candycane. "It is good for the entire legislature here to know that we have retaken the captured mining facility from Evergreen's forces. I have ordered all sleighs in service of the North Pole Armed Forces to engage any Canadian ship, or any ship approaching belonging to a NATO nation. Harper's speech has made it readily apparent that NATO is hostile to us and is simply looking for an excuse to strike. Let us show them the North Pole is not some backwater province of a much larger nation, but a nation in its own right."

Some of the council cheered. Candycane, flabbergasted, stood up and objected. "Harper only said that he would attack if his ships are attacked first. There is utterly no reason to provoke them."

To join in, Giftmaker stood as well. "There is still a chance for peace, Minister! There is no reason to be so aggressive."

Bellringer looked at them both with a gaze that pierced like a thousand needles. "I would have you know, and the entire Elven Council know, that Santa Claus put me exclusively, and I mean exclusively, in command of the North Pole armed forces. You are obligated to accept my orders to them."

"And what makes you think you can win against NATO?" chided Candycane.

"Simple," the Minister of Defense responded. "President Putin has made it known to me, with permission to tell you, that he is sending a missile cruiser, the Petr Velikiy, to promote his causes in this region. They will back us up."

"But they are only authorized to strike in case of assault! How can you use this missile cruiser to your advantage?" Giftmaker inquired tensely.

"We have a plan, Giftmaker. We have a plan to make sure nothing challenges our sovereignty."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The armored gunsleigh, piloted by Publius Callingbird and gunned by Julius Sleighmaster, dashed through the air over the North Pole. To the west, they could see on their radar (developed with American assistance in the Cold War and independently manufactured since then) the Canadian ships, and to the east, the Russian missile cruiser.

"Sleighmaster," asked Callingbird, "Are the missiles ready?"

"As they'll ever be!" replied Sleighmaster.

"Good, good, good. Judging by the radar, we're about in the middle between the two ships, just as the good Minister ordered. Fire at will!"

The sleigh's missiles, modeled in payload and array after the Lockheed AC-130, launched into the air towards the Canadian ships.

There was a cascade of fire where the ships were, but some of the missiles were intercepted. These Canadians had come prepared.

They fired back.

Just as planned.

The gunsleigh dove down and back towards the Russian ship, previously unaware of the Canadians, at least by the looks of it (their radar was another story). They had knowledge of the Canadian weaponry, and it was with this knowledge they dove.

The Canadian fire just briefly missed the gunsleigh, but came closer (but still missed) something else.

The Russian missile carrier.

More fire continued to hit the Russian ship, and the Russian missiles began flying.

"Mission complete. All has gone according to plan," radioed Callingbird to the mainland.

"Good, good," replied Defense Minister Bellringer.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Santa Claus waited tentatively in his apartment in Moscow. He wished he could be back in the North Pole, to finish up this mess with Evergreen. It was something he was certain Candycane and Bellringer were taking care of easily, but nevertheless he wanted to oversee things personally. Rising from the bed, he put on his glasses and picked up the remote control for the television on the desk beside the bed.

He turned on the television, changed to a news channel, and there saw the cold, stony face of the Russian President. Putin spoke:

"Recent intelligence has confirmed Canadian ships have fired upon the missile cruiser Petr Velikiy. This is nothing less than an act of war. Our entire Arctic fleet is now descending on the North Pole to affirm our sovereignty over the area and the sovereignty of Santa Claus. Russia fights for the children of the world. NATO? For the toy companies."

Claus was outraged. This had to be some sort of lure, perhaps by the rebels. Evergreen struck him as the cunning person as such.

The feed of Putin disappeared and was replaced by a news anchor. "The North Pole Minister of Defense, Claudius Bellringer, has released a statement to the world news media."

Bellringer was compromising the secrecy of the North Pole? He had never given his Defense Minister any authority to do so!

The screen cut to a scene of Bellringer in a room recognizable as the meeting place of the Elven council. To each side was an armed guard and behind him was the flag of the North Pole.

"NATO has shown itself to be immediately hostile to the interests of the North Pole and hence the spirit of Christmas. We will destroy the rebels who threaten it, and we will destroy the Canadians and Americans as well!"

Bellringer's stern voice rang even through speakers. How Claus wished he were back home, but he had no sleigh; it had been destroyed. His reindeer were dead (he missed them most of all; he had bonded with them for the past several years).

The news feed cut back to the anchor. She continued.


"In recent statements, Ukrainian President Viktor Yakunovych has announced his support for Santa Claus and Bellringer in their fight against the rebels and NATO, to the current opposition's chagrin. Currently, protestors in Kiev have begun burning traditional Christmas regalia, such as Santa Claus hats and Christmas trees, with a very large, ornately decorated tree was burned in Kiev as a symbol of opposition to what is seen as a Russian puppet. Syrian president Bashar al-Assad has made similar statements to that effect."

It was clear to him what he was now: a pariah and a fugitive, locked in Moscow just as was Edward Snowden. He could only hope for a way out.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Clarence Giftmaker and Cornelius Candycane stood outside the main offices of the North Pole administration. Candycane was in battle dress, as he was a military elf by occupation. Giftmaker remained in civilian clothing, for he was a bureaucrat and a laborer, not a soldier. Candycane was ready to deploy in an APC sleigh to fight the rebels, who had taken control of more manufacturing facilities. Giftmaker was to bid him farewell and then deal with whatever business needed to be dealt with.

"I hate to be fighting Bellringer's war, but in all truth it's Evergreen's war just as much as the Minister's," muttered Candycane. "It's necessary that we defend ourselves to continue delivering the Christmas spirit. If, of course, we don't destroy ourselves or our ideals in this conflict."

"Your concern is completely justified, Cornelius," replied Giftmaker. "It's barbaric, but we've had our hands forced." He sighed. "If only Santa Claus could come back and set things straight."

A call came from the APC sled. "All aboard! We'll be fighting the rebels very shortly - they've taken one of the reindeer pens."

Candycane understood the haste, but leaned in and whispered into Giftmaker's ear. "That is the key to fixing this. I need you to go to the main airfields and take one of Bellringer's sleighs. From there, pilot it to Moscow and bring him back. It is the only way to save Christmas - it is only three days away now."

Without saying a word, Candycane leaned out and ran towards the APC sleigh. Here, Giftmaker knew what he had to do.

He dashed towards the hangars and the airfields. Overhead, he saw sleighs taking off, reindeer strapped onto them in the standard configuration. These were not the common perception of sleighs; these were armored sleighs designed for aerial combat. In particular, they were gunsleighs, modeled after American aerial gunships in weaponry. There was the occasional bomber as well.

Several tens of them took off within a span of fifteen minutes. It seemed excessive to Giftmaker, but he knew Bellringer was an extremist.

He entered the nearest hanger. He exhaled in relief: there was an unused sleigh, reindeer ready to takeoff. It was another bomber type, but it would do.

He asked the reindeer, "are you guys waiting for a takeoff?"

"That's what they said. In a few minutes, we'll be taking part in Bellringer's grand gesture, as he put it," a reindeer responded, sounding tired.

"What is this 'grand gesture?'" Giftmaker inquired. He was now growing incredibly suspicious.

A voice came from a corner of the hangar, quickly determined to be an exit. There stood Claudius Bellringer, Minister of Defense of the North Pole, accompanied by a pilot and several armed guards. "That is none of your business, Giftmaker," he rasped. "Don't you have some paperwork to do?"

"Minister," said Giftmaker, turning the honorific into an insult, "I have been assigned by Cornelius Candycane, Claus' second in command, to rescue Santa Claus from Moscow and return him here to negotiate a peace between rebels and loyalists."

"I'm afraid I cannot permit, that, Giftmaker," snarled Bellringer, "for we need this sleigh here for the grand proclamation of sovereignty that the nation of the North Pole needs, one that shows us as the true defenders of the Christmas spirit."

"I'm certain they are fully aware of our sovereignty, now that you are sending sleighs to bomb their ships!"

"That is only a fraction of them," the Minister snickered. "Another small fraction of them are going to attack the rebels. The rest are heading ... elsewhere."

"Where else will you send them?" asked Giftmaker, incredulously. Did the Minister really have the audacity to attack the mainland of one of these countries?

"That, as I said, is none of your business, Giftmaker. Guards, arrest him. He is to be tried for treason and obstruction of the war effort."

Bellringer pointed towards Giftmaker. Within seconds, he was handcuffed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Cornelius Candycane peered out of the hatch above the APC sleigh. He knew how to use machine guns, and as such he was manning one now. The sleigh jerked from side to side, hoping to avoid any incoming fire.

He saw a bright red object in the distance, near a building flying a red flag. The rebels were here. He was certain.

As the APC sleigh came closer, he was able to discern what this object was. It was a trough, as elves called them - a sleigh mounted with the gun and other equipment of a main battle tank used by humans ('tank' was a name for a food container, initially - this was changed to 'trough' by elves to refer to the containers reindeer ate out of). This design, slathered in rebel red, was one based on the M1 Abrams.

Split seconds before he was to warn the conductor of the sleigh, the trough's gun recoiled, and a terrific bang came out. He ducked, but the shell barely missed the sleigh.

He jumped down into the interior, and exclaimed, "Trough! Dodge the fire!"

Without a word, the conductor began maneuvering the sleigh in a zigzag pattern, skillfully avoiding the trough's fire.

They moved closer and were about to dash to one side to avoid the trough when aforementioned trough burst into flames. Candycane peered out of the hatch.

Above, he saw a loyalist bomber sleigh that had just unleashed its payload on the trough, leaving it a mass of burning metal and reindeer flesh. To its left and right were two fighter sleighs, their reindeer rapidly prancing in the air to keep a high pace.

He was relieved.

But than he heard a whir, a tremendous whir.

There were two aircraft, both F-22s of the United States Air Force.

"Fuck!" exclaimed Candycane. It was rare for an elf to swear as such, for Claus looked down upon it. However, Claus was not here; the US Air Force, a hostile entity as of now, was here. "The Americans are here!" he screamed to the troops in the APC sleigh.

He saw a scene of terror unravel above him. The F-22s fired their missiles at the loyalist sleighs.

The bomber was hit, leaving a disgusting amount of dead reindeer and elf plummeting from the sky.

The two fighter sleighs released their missiles at the F-22s, which fired back.

One F-22 was hit; it caught fire and careened towards the ground, exploding in a frenzy of fire.

The other survived, and its missiles hit the fighter sleighs.

Candycane could hear screams, both elven and human.

The lone F-22 turned around towards what had to be the nearest air base.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

St. John’s, Newfoundland

Little Molly played in the playground outside her school, where it was quite cold out. She darted from side to side chasing her friend, Jane, as her mommy read a newspaper of some sort. She recognized the face on the front; it was some man named “Pootin,” or so she heard. On the right of Pootin was Santa Claus.

This ‘Pootin,’ was, in mommy’s words, a bad man. Pootin hated Canada and wanted to kill its people, mommy said. That is why they were at war, she said. Santa Claus liked Pootin, and that is why they weren’t getting presents from Santa this year.

Why didn’t he like Canada? Molly liked Canada, Mommy liked Canada, Daddy liked Canada, little brother Joey liked Canada, and her friend Jane liked Canada.

She had asked, “Why is Pootin such a bad man? What did he do? And why does Santa Claus like him?”

Mommy’s response was that Pootin had attacked Canada’s people, and that he did so because Santa Claus asked him to. She also said that he was firing rockets into Ponyland.

“Cool!” Molly had said. “Just like the rocket Mr. Thomas showed us in school!”

Mommy had replied, “These are not the cool rockets you have in school. These rockets are dangerous. They make people die.”

“But why would he want to kill ponies with rockets?” She had asked.
“I don’t know. That is why Pootin is a bad man,” her mommy had replied.

Molly was curious. Why would a man want to fire dangerous rockets at ponies? Ponies were cute.

Mommy had said the rockets had killed many people in Ponyland, and in particular in a city called Waza. “Why Waza?” Molly had asked.

“I don’t know. Waza used to be such nice city with pretty buildings and happy people. Now Pootin wants to destroy it.”

All she knew was that it had something to do with Neigh-toe. She didn’t know what Neigh-toe was, but since “neigh” was the sound a pony makes, it must have something to do with Ponyland.

She stopped thinking about such things when it hit her.

Specifically, a snowball.

She cleared the snow from her face, which was now red. A few meters away was her friend Jane, laughing.

“I got you!” she exclaimed.

Molly smiled. She didn’t normally like snowball fights, but she would happily throw one back if Jane did. She packed some snow and threw it at her friend, and hit her right in the head, knocking her down.

“Ha! Good one!” Jane said. “I wish I had one of those fancy guns that shoots snowballs really really fast, like on TV! Maybe I should ask Santa Claus for one.”

Tears began to well up in Molly’s eyes. “Santa Claus isn’t coming this year,” she explained her sadness, words which gradually became whimpers. “He’s a bad man, just like Pootin.”

“That’s not good,” Jane said. “But maybe your mommy and daddy will get you something! Like that doll you wanted!”

“But still, no presents from Santa!” She began to cry.

Jane tried to comfort her, and did so for a few minutes.

But then they heard something. A ‘whoosh!’ A very loud ‘whoosh!’ A noise in the sky.

Jane looked up as she hugged her friend. Up in the sky she saw several things moving together. Red things, with smaller brown things moving in front of them.

More of the red things and brown things came over them. As they came closer, the things became clearer. Jane was struck with joy.

“It’s Santa’s sleighs!”

Molly looked up.

“See?” Jane asked. “There’s the reindeer pulling the sleighs! He must have sent a lot of them because he has a lot of presents!”

“He’s coming?” Molly asked. “He’s coming! He’s coming with presents. Yay!
We’ll have Christmas after all!”

As the sleighs flew over them, she saw one of them open a door on the bottom, and out fell a grey thing.

“What is that grey thing that fell out of the sleigh?” asked Molly.

“It must be a present, just for us!” rang Jane’s voice. “I’ll go get it!”
Jane ran to catch the falling present. Molly waited, wondering what it would be. Could it be a doll? A dollhouse, even? The dollhouse she had always wanted? Her frown from sadness of having no presents turned upside down. She was now happy.

She saw Jane under the falling gift, her arms outstretched, waiting to catch the gift. It came to the ground.

There was a tremendous noise, a boom Molly had never heard before. It was sort of like the fireworks she saw on Canada Day, but much louder.

She looked in the direction of Jane and the noise. There was no doll, no dollhouse, no toy of any kind.

Instead, there was fire.

She ran towards the fire. “Jane?” she cried out. “Jane? Are you okay?”

She came to the fire. In it, she saw what looked like Jane. Jane looked like the newspaper Daddy threw in the fire to keep it going as it burned.

She came to a cold realization made colder by the winter weather.

Jane was dead.

“Jane!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face. She had lost one of her best friends.

Her cry was only heard to very few, as more of the fire presents were dropped by the mass of sleighs above. They moved towards town, and even more fire presents went boom around her. She looked behind her, and saw her mommy running to her.

“Mommy! Jane is dead!” she cried out.

“I’m coming, Molly, I’m coming!” her mommy yelled over the blast.

Another fire present came down from the air, near her mommy. It exploded, and there was a boom and fire, just like the last time.

“Mommy!” Molly screamed. First Jane, and now Mommy, dead? She let out a scream of pain and sadness.

She knew what to do. She would go home and find Daddy and little Joey, her brother. The house was close by. She had walked here and she knew the way back.

She dashed towards the street that she knew took her home.
The destruction amazed her. The buildings she had grown used to were now up in flames, like her school. The fire presents dropped by the sleighs had destroyed them. Now they all looked like the newspaper Daddy put in the fire. So did the people. The people screamed.

She saw car crashing. Crashing into people. Into each other. Into buildings. Being crushed by fire presents.

“Molly!” a voice sounded. She looked to her left.

It was Daddy’s car! And little Joey was in the back! “Where’s Mommy?”

Daddy asked. He sounded worried.

“She’s dead. So is Jane. The fire presents killed them.”

Daddy’s face became surprised. Through the noise she could tell he was now very sad.

“Get in the car!” he screamed through the open window.

She did. She ran. But not fast enough.

Before her eyes she saw the truck speeding on the road to the right.

Right into Daddy’s car.

The truck and the car collided, and the two vehicles slid forward with a deafening scream. There were more crashed cars in that direction, and
they rammed into the pile.

Daddy was dead. Little Joey was dead. Molly didn’t know what to do now.

But she could see, as she saw the sleighs drop fire presents on the city, why Mommy thought Santa Claus was a bad man.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Cornelius Candycane hoisted the ruined wreck of a reindeer stable out of his way, accompanied by the several other soldiers that were deployed to take it. After the clang, he scrambled in.

Overhead, he could hear fighter planes and fighter sleighs fighting neck and neck, missiles flying over the icy ground, impacting it with a deafening crash. This was the distance. Here, he had to find Evergreen, the traitor.

“Ornamenter,” Candycane called. “I think he’s this direction. He has to be here. I’ve recently received reports from Bellringer that the other rebel strongholds have been bombed out of existence. Most of their captured military hardware has been destroyed in one way or another, either by them in an attempt to deny it to us or by our own troughs or other armored sleighs. The fighter and bomber sleighs have destroyed the bases and are defending us from NATO, and the Russian ships are bombarding the NATO ships.”

Chauncey Ornamenter responded, “I saw an incredibly large fleet of sleighs heading in the direction of Canada. Did Claus order this?”

“Claus couldn’t be giving any orders. He’s currently at the mercy of Putin, and he hasn’t appeared in public for a while now. I’m getting a feeling that once he returns he will be very angry with Bellringer.”

The loyalist elves navigated through the burning building, extinguishing any obstructive ones with their boots, designed to withstand fire among other things, by stomping on them without grace.

Eventually, after clambering through the building, bullets rang out. There were two rebels with rifles, doing their best to defend a door. On this door was hastily painted a crossed candy cane and fireplace prong, the emblem of the rebellion.

The loyalists ducked. Ornamenter took his rifle, pointed it up above his cover (a near-destroyed log, burned by the fire that had consumed so much of the structure), and shot two bullets. They died quickly.

“Nice shots,” stated Candycane quite bluntly. “Shall we enter?”
Without responding, Ornamenter shot the door with his rifle, sending it careening back. The troop entered.

In there was the remnants of a perverse shrine, a shrine to the ideology that dictated no holiday cheer. On the walls were flags singed by fire, captured weapons lying abandoned, a roof fallen in. They heard a series of inhales and exhales in a corner, where several corpses of fallen elves were lying cold and dead.


They sifted away the corpses and found a live elf, attempting to camouflage himself in the decaying mess of soldiers.

“Who are you, and why are you hiding?” demanded Candycane. He was not in the mood for trifling talk. He was worried that Bellringer was getting the North Pole into more trouble than the North Pole Defense Force could handle. He was a Defense minister, and had no business going on the offensive. Candycane could only hope that was what was happening.

He remembered the controversy back in the fifties when Claus had appointed Bellringer to the post of Minister of Defense. It was a new position due to the new albeit clandestine role the North Pole had in the world, and now Bellringer had held the post for decades. Bellringer was noted for having a very strict belief on who deserved presents, and believed the amount of deserving was only a fifth of the current allotment. He also demanded harsh punishment of the naughty, and once demanded coals put in naughty stockings be lit (unpopularity moderated this view). Claus defended his appointment as he thought Bellringer to be “cautious and a necessary opposing viewpoint.”

He snapped out of the reminiscing. There was somebody here who could give them information.

“I surrender,” the elf uttered meekly. “I surrender.”

Candycane stepped upon the pile of corpses and helped the elf to his feet.

It was Evergreen.

“So, we’ve beaten you down, quelled your rebellion,” snarled Candycane.

“Ornamenter, it’s Evergreen. We need to take him back to the headquarters. Bellringer would like to see him alive.”

Evergreen trembled in fear.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Candycane and Ornamenter brought the handcuffed Evergreen to the armored walls that guarded the base. Candycane had an entry card, and so he was let in.

They passed a guard. “Where is Bellringer? It is imperative that I speak with him,” inquired Candycane.

“He’s in the new studio, sir, making an announcement to the press.”

“What is he announcing? Don’t tell me it’s something he’s not allowed to do – if anyone were to usurp Santa Claus’ authority it is him.”

“The success of the Newfoundland raid, sir. He says he has begun to cow NATO into submission.”

Candycane was aghast. His job was defense, not aggression!

“Ornamenter, come with me. We are confronting Bellringer about this, and now!”

They rushed to the studio, dragging the captive Evergreen along with them.

The studio, as stated before, was new. Very new. It seemed almost alien to Candycane, for here before was simply a closet.

They entered, saluting the guards that kept the Minister of Defense safe.

Bellringer stood at a podium, orating to a camera crew which was broadcasting live – they were humans, mostly from Russia Today and other Russian-friendly news agencies. As such, he spoke in Russian.

“As you can see by the burning of St. John’s, the North Pole’s sovereignty is non-negotiable. If it becomes necessary, we can and will burn every NATO city to the ground if our hand is forced. We are a power, and we will let no other impede our-“

“Bellringer!” bellowed Candycane. “What have you wrought on us? Why did you order an attack on Newfoundland? I am Claus’ deputy and as such control the military in Claus’ absence!”

Bellringer paused, and then turned his head to face them. “With respect, Candycane, you are neither entitled to such power nor are you competent enough to wield it. I have run this military enterprise for decades. You at best have been a foot soldier.”

“You are a traitor to the spirit of Christmas! I cannot believe I caught this bastard for you, you swine, you despot!” roared Candycane, in a near-nationalistic rage, throwing the bound and gagged Evergreen towards the minister.

“So, you’ve caught Evergreen?” inquired Bellringer with rising intonation. “I am pleasantly surprised!”

He continued. “I was tasked with defending this enterprise from enemies from within and without. You have dealt with those from within, and I am punishing those from without. The best defense is a good offense.”
Candycane’s veins throbbed with rage. The minister was still coldly calm, his words piercing and frigid. “You ordered civilians killed, Bellringer. You have blood on your hands.”

The minister’s eyes widened to form an expression of mild surprise that an underling had objected. “They had voted in the governments that antagonize us and therefore are naughty.” He uttered the last word as if it were a slur. “The naughty must be punished. Claus has been far too lenient with them. I will not be.”

“Defense is one thing, slaughter is another, Bellringer. I never thought you would be as deranged as Evergreen here,” said Candycane, pointing to the writhing former rebel.

Evergreen squirmed, trying to speak through the cloth around his mouth.
“I simply act in the spirit of Christmas as promoted by Santa Claus,” stated Bellringer, bluntly. “I am certain he would approve. He will once we are able to extract him from Moscow.”

The crowd of reporters gasped. “What is wrong?” asked Bellringer.
One of the reporters extended his arm towards Bellringer, microphone in hand. “Does this mean you lied about saying you had Santa Claus’ support for this operation?”

Bellringer’s eyes glazed over. He had been discovered as an usurper. “This is it! This conference is over!” He turned his eyes to Candycane. “I will not have the rest of my plan ruined by the likes of you! The grand distribution of gifts will take place tomorrow! Today, December 23rd, treason will be finally stamped out from the North Pole. I arrested Giftmaker and I will arrest you! Guards! Take them down!”

Seemingly from the woodwork, many members of the North Pole Infantry Corps appeared and pointed their rifles at Ornamenter and Candycane.

“Fire at will, but keep them alive! I will go elsewhere should I be assassinated,” Bellringer ordered, and subsequently ran out of a back door.

The guards opened fire. They were armed with the standard rifle that the NPIC had. Candycane and Ornamenter ducked behind the exit, kicking away the guards there, their thick boots impaling them almost instantly. Ornamenter quipped, “I was trained in hand-to-hand combat, Candycane, and I was taught that these boots could kill if applied to the head. I see you’ve learned the same.”

The walls of the facility came flying out behind them in a hail of bullets. The two true loyalists ran to the sides, turned to face their attackers, and fired back.

One, two, three, four guards were dead by the end of that. The guards used by Bellringer were novices, Candycane and Ornamenter could tell.

“We need to find Claus. Now. Before Bellringer destroys some other city.”

“But how?” asked Ornamenter of Candycane.

“I know how. The database of addresses that the NSA came for. The prison block is by there too; we should get Giftmaker and bring him along with us.”

“I was never told where the database was; not enough clearance. But it doesn’t matter now; let’s go!”

The two ran to the next building over, where the most secure of things were held, dragging the hostage Evergreen along. This facility held the address database, the prison, and the finished gifts for the holidays. It was relieving that most of the gifts were completed, with notes for the addressees wishing them a happy yuletide.

Candycane had an entrance card for such things, swiping into the device, causing the door to open. They dashed down a hallway to the prison block.

The prison block was kept deliberately colder than usual, to serve as a sort of torment. Bellringer had designed it during the Second World War; it was proof Claus had overestimated the current Defense Minister’s goodwill.

They saw Giftmaker huddled in a prison block, cold and starving.

“Candycane!” he exclaimed. “You’ve caught Evergreen!”

“And we’re busting you out,’ affirmed Ornamenter. “Bellringer has gone mad. By the sound of it he’s planning something even worse than the Newfoundland raid.”

Giftmaker was aghast. “He raided Newfoundland? I should have known, all that with the ‘grand gesture.’”

Candycane opened the cell door with his card (all those with proper clearance could open cell doors). Giftmaker ran out, embracing his newfound freedom. Ornamenter unceremoniously threw Evergreen in the cell, without removing the handcuffs or the gag around his mouth. He slammed the door shut. “Claus can take care of the traitor afterwards,” he spat.

“I’ll get the information on Claus’ location. The database updates in real time; how else would we be able to get to the right house?”

They hurried to the database room. Candycane submit the necessary credentials, entered Claus’ name, and the profile came up on the massive screen that served as the interface for the computers that held the database.

“I’ve found him. He’s not far from the Kremlin.” He took a piece of paper from a desk near the computer, scribbled down the address, and stuffed it into a pocket. “Now, we need to find a sleigh,” said Candycane.

“That’s going to be very hard to do. The reason I was thrown in prison was for attempting to rescue Santa Claus by stealing one of the sleighs.”

“Theft is nothing compared to murder,” orated Candycane. “To the hangar!”

And so they ran to the hangar, opening door after door to find a sleigh. Empty. Empty. Empty. They must be engaging the NATO forces.

Opened another door. There was an empty one. A bomber.

“Take it!” yelled Ornamenter. “It’s a bomber but it’ll do!”

They clambered in and took off.

Through the blistering cold they saw the war going on over North Pole skies. The US Air Force, the Russian Air force, the Canadian Air Force, and the North Pole Air Force were all sparring over the ice, bombs falling everywhere. They could see the ships firing at one another and at the ground. They dodged missiles coming from NATO aircraft.

To Russia they would go.

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Santa Claus looked in horror at the television within his apartment near the Kremlin. Bellringer was mad. He had thought the minister would have moderated, but no.

Russia Today was airing footage taken of the bombings over St. John’s. This was not warfare.

It was barbarism.

The shots of the dead bodies lining the streets, the Cabot Tower lying in disrepair, the majestic Colonial and Confederation buildings in ruins chilled him to the core. The amateur filming of the sleighs firebombing the city, sleighs that Santa Claus had designed and commissioned, decorated and staffed, unleashed a fire that consumed, that killed, that incinerated.

Elves should not be killers. They are helpers.

He let out a roar, a roar befitting a lion. He had no control here in Moscow. He had repeatedly had asked that Putin give him transportation back to the North Pole. Putin had refused, saying it ‘wasn’t safe.’

Nonsense, thundered Claus, nonsense! He knew fully well he was a tool to this man, to be used a bargaining chip with the United States!

For his own safety, there were members of the Russian military defending his room. They felt like wardens of a prison to him.

A slow clop-clop became audible outside his window, a noise that gradually slowed down and quieted. It sounded like a sleigh, thought Claus.

It was a sleigh. A bomber sleigh. It had ruined some fencing, but that was irrelevant.

The door to the cockpit opened. Three elves came out. It was Candycane, and Giftmaker, and another elf, obviously a member of the NPIC.

He opened the window. “Candycane!” he said in a loud whisper (or so words can best approximate). “Giftmaker! I trust you’ve heard the news about Newfoundland?”

“That’s why we’ve come,” hushed Candycane. “We need you to order him to cease his attacks at once! He seems to have plans to attack another NATO country, something we cannot permit! Come now! We have no time to waste!”

Claus clambered out of the window, an easy task for him given his vast experience with sliding down chimneys. He entered the sleigh.

“Chauncey Ornamenter, at your service,” bellowed the armed elf. “I helped Mr. Candycane here take out Evergreen who’s now in jail. On a sadder note, I helped him defeat several guards loyal to Bellringer. Hopefully, we can stop him.”

“What have I done? What have I done!” wept Claus. “I wanted to give happiness to humanity, not war!”

“That is why we need you, Santa,” addressed Candycane, using his rarely used first name. “To give peace to an embattled world.”
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The sleigh holding the three elves and Santa Claus dashed over the Arctic Ocean. Thankfully, there had been no Russian planes intercepting them. Putin was probably busy, perhaps with Syria, perhaps with Ukraine, perhaps with China (who had remained in stern neutrality in this conflict).

They approached the North Pole. The radio in the sleigh, as befitting a bomber, was ready to hail the base on the ground. Specifically, Bellringer’s office.

Claus entered a code into the console. He knew the codes, all of them; he wrote the codes. From a speaker, a voice came out, a cold voice.

It was Bellringer.

“This is Minister of Defense Bellringer. What is it? Has NATO destroyed something important?” he rasped. It was obvious by his tone of voice that he was doing something quite pressing.

“This is Santa Claus. I am returning from Moscow and I demand you answer for your desolation of St. John’s. This is nothing less than a war crime, Bellringer! You will answer!”

Bellringer paused. Claus imagined he was in shock that his master was here to reign him in. “I thought you would have approved, Mr. Claus. The people of Canada have been quite naughty, and so had to be punished. Coal in the stockings simply would not be enough! I’m sure you’d understand.” He said this with a vague semblance of regret, but with more explanation than anything.

“No, no I don’t.” said Claus, with a rage that was sunken into the depths of his voice, coming out in a droning monotone. “We bring joy. Not death. This is what we prided ourselves on being.” His voice crescendoed. “You give Evergreen and his followers cause! Why do you do this?”

“You need to understand that the people of Canada, of NATO, indeed most of the world are being very, very naughty. I’m certain you can see it, Claus. The scathing income inequality, the rampant disease, the discrimination, the persecution, the slaughter, the war? How are these people ‘nice,’ by any definition?” Bellringer snarled, his voice growing louder as well.

“They are not responsible for the actions of their governments! Why do you hold them accountable for something they have no control over?” Claus inquired of his minister.

“This is where your logic fails us both, Claus,” Bellringer spat. “They are responsible. By inaction, they endorse the death they claim to abhor. They are hypocrites. They do not want the world to be happy, only themselves. This is why I started this war. To punish them. To bring joy to the oppressed peoples of the world, in Africa, in South America, in Asia. They are the nice ones, the good ones. The spoiled brat in New York, London, Moscow, Paris, or Toronto is not. They waste. They squander. They oppress. We are better than this. We punish the naughty and reward the nice? Do you not remember your own mandate?”

Claus paused. What Bellringer said was true. “They are indeed innocent, most of them! They did not order such atrocities!”

“Bah!” spat Bellringer. “You have been complacent in some of the worse crimes in history! You cherry pick examples to make yourself feel better, like that Sokolov fellow in St. Petersburg! I, on the other hand, will punish all the naughty this Christmas. Just as our mandate, ordered by you, entails. This is why I am sending another sleigh, a heavily armed and armored one, to Washington.”

Candycane, Giftmaker, and Ornamenter gasped. Claus replied. “Why Washington?”

“Ah, yes, I never told you about this, did I? I didn’t deem it necessary to tell you back in the Cold War that I had acquired this. This weapon to which I refer is a nuclear bomb, as the ones designed at Trinity. I personally supplied them uranium from Africa to support them, metals for the war effort. In exchange I received a nuclear bomb in case the Cold War went hot. It was on alert, ready to be dropped via sleigh in case I needed it. I was never able to neither reproduce it nor create missiles strong enough to transport it, sadly, hence delivery by sleigh. But it is still in operational condition; my scientists have made sure. This nuke will explode over Washington.”

“You madman! You inglorious madman!” yelled Claus. “It’s Christmas Eve, and you want to start nuclear war? Why? Why do you want the death of most of humanity?

“The world is naughty. If I destroy Washington, American nukes will fly. Then Russian nukes will fly. Then Chinese nukes will fly. Then British, then French, then Indian, then Pakistani, then Israeli, then North Korean. They will all destroy each other and their greed and evil will be purged from this world. Then, under the North Pole’s guidance, Earth shall see a new renaissance. Under my guidance. Under your guidance.”

“No. I cannot allow you to do this, Bellringer. You threaten our own extinction in addition to that of humanity!”

“You prove yourself a traitor, Claus. I expected much more of you, the very Father Christmas.” Bellringer sighed.

He was quiet for a moment, a moment that seemed to last for years.

He said something quiet, as if he were leaning towards something else.

Another matter.

“Attention all members of the North Pole Defense Force. Santa Claus has betrayed us to the Americans and will attempt to rule over an empire directed from Washington. It is with a heavy heart that I give you this order.”

“Shoot. Him. Down.”

Santa Claus and his elves were aghast. The Minister of Defense had just given an order to kill Santa Claus.

He had commit treason.

They heard noises outside the sleigh. Dreadfully, Candycane peered out the window.

There were two fighter sleighs, decked in the insignia of the North Pole Defense Force, preparing to fire.

They fired.

Candycane ran to the control panel and grabbed the reins of the reindeer, causing the sleigh to dive down towards the ground, dodging the missiles that pursued them. They rammed into the North Pole ice, causing water to cascade towards the sky.

They were braced to fire again.

But they didn’t.

At least not at the sleigh.

Two aircraft of the US Air Force were hot on their trail. Bellringer’s sleighs flew off, and the American planes followed them.

“I’m landing this sleigh by the loading bay,” shouted Candycane. “I’m no fighter ace but I’ve flown these before. I can manage. We’re loading up on presents tonight, delivering them, and stopping the nuke sleigh while we’re at it. The world can wait no longer. Any objections, Mr. Claus?”

“None. None at all.”

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The bomber sleigh piloted by Santa Claus, aided by Cornelius Candycane, Clarence Giftmaker, and Chauncey Ornamenter glided over the North Atlantic. If their estimates were correct, they should catch the nuke sleigh around Massachusetts, given the average velocity of the sleigh (Claus had been an engineer on all sleigh designs; he knew the specifications). This was one of the reasons Bellringer was such a traitor. He withheld information regarding supplies from Claus. Claus wanted to know his supplies and his suppliers.

The radar onboard simply could not find the sleigh bearing such dangerous cargo. Another form of treason; a design apparently based off of a stealth fighter, most likely an F-117, most likely assembled during the 1990s.
They passed Newfoundland, shedding tears for its inhabitants. They passed Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Maine, and New Hampshire.

They should be here.

They had better be here.

They saw the glittering lights of Boston, gigantic Christmas trees awaiting celebration.

Should Claus’ quest fail, it would mean not celebration, but desolation, glorious cities worldwide being rent asunder, burned like newspaper kindling on a fire.

It occurred to Claus that Bellringer would celebrate in his new world to be plundered by him and him alone. “He’ll make it a desert and call it peace,” murmured Claus aloud.

“That he will,” quipped Ornamenter.

“Ornamenter,” Candycane asked, “are the weapons ready? You are the arms expert.”

“That I am,” he replied. “All missiles are installed. It’s a bomber, remember; we have only a few shots – I could fit only so much. It’s not designed for this.”

He was right. All the fighters were engaging NATO over the North Pole.
Time passed quickly and slowly simultaneously, in an aggravating tension that maddened them.

A gush of wind was heard.

There was the bomber sleigh, its reindeer obscured by a canopy, its frame made sleek with straight lines, showing the influence of an F-122. The irony that the owner of its inspiration was its target was known to all. Ornamenter primed the rockets, aiming them at the craft.

Rockets fired. But not Ornamenter’s rockets.

American fighter planes dispatched from whatever air base was nearby unleashed a volley of missiles at both sleighs. They did not see any difference; they were both enemies of the United States.

Both sleighs tumbled to avoid the chaos, the flurry of violence that caused hell to rain over Boston. Missiles impacted skyscrapers, some even hitting the ground.

“Ornamenter! Fire!” yelled Candycane.

He did.

The rocket blasted towards the sleigh with the nuke in it.

The enemy sleigh accelerated.

An American missile fired towards Claus’ sleigh.

Claus sleigh tumbled towards the ground to dodge – it had not been hit.

The rocket got ever closer to the sleigh with the nuke in it.

It hit.

It hit while the nuke sleigh was turning rightward.

It hit the reindeer.

The nuke sleigh careened to the ground.

It crashed.

There was no nuclear fireball engulfing Boston.

There would be no fire engulfing the world.

“We’ve won!” yelled Giftmaker.

“Not yet!” shouted Claus over the air gusting towards them. “We need to escape the US Air Force!”

They darted west, zigzagging over Boston. The sleigh, given its duty of delivering toys to the entire world, could easily outrun the planes if motivation required it. Such speeds were hardly used; it was only for Christmas Eve like today.

The landscape was a flurry. The planes disappeared.

They were in the Massachusetts countryside.

“Bring the sleigh down. There’s a child down there who needs presents.”

Claus ordered, pointing to a quaint home.

“Yes sir,” responded Candycane. “On the roof?”

“Yes. On the roof.”

They landed on the roof, delicately. The reindeer hooves paused, and out of the sleigh jumped good old Santa Claus, bearing a bundle of toys for the children’s Christmas joys.

He slid down the chimney. There was no fire, thankfully – but just in case, both the sack and his coat were fireproof. He had learned this the hard way.

He wheezed; the coal residue made him cough. He was used to it.

Their living room was modest, with a Christmas tree in the corner and an old television next to it. Old couches were the main seats.

Next to the tree was a table, covered in milk and cookies for Father Christmas. He smiled, and moved to take them.

“Santa!” cried a voice, quite high pitched.

He turned around. There stood two children, one a boy around five and the other a girl around three. “You’re here! I thought you weren’t delivering Christmas presents this year!” the boy exclaimed.

From a stairway, two adults, the children’s parents, came down. They were just as surprised as their children.

The girl chimed in, “I thought you said there was no Santa Claus, mommy.”

“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus,” the mother said, awestruck at the sight of Father Christmas being here.

Virginia wailed in delight. “He’s here! He’s here! Santa Claus is here!” He put his sack of gifts on the floor, opened it, and took out some gifts, placing them under the tree. “Not tonight, kids. Tomorrow.”

He gestured to the parents. “There’s stuff for you there too.”

“Thank you,” the family said collectively.

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!” he bellowed.

Claus clambered up the chimney back onto the roof.

“How did it go?” asked Candycane, apprehensively.

“Fine. Let’s go. We have a world to give joy to.”
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December 28th, 2013, Geneva, Switzerland.

Santa Claus, Cornelius Candycane, and Clarence Giftmaker strolled out of the Palace of Nations. Negotiations had been stressful, but the war was over. Peace rang through the world. The North Pole would be independent.

A crowd of reporters came running up to them. “I’m guessing you’re used to this by now,” said Candycane. “First Stockholm, then Moscow, now here.”

“I guess I am,” replied Claus. “It’s why I’m appointing a head of public relations now.”

He gestured to Giftmaker. The elf blushed. “I certainly don’t deserve it.”

“You most certainly do.” Claus turned to Candycane. “As does Ornamenter his new spot as Minister of Defense.”

The crowd encircled them.

One from the BBC asked, “What has been decided? The world must know.”

Claus obliged. “The North Pole is going to continue its existence as a sovereign nation and will assume a seat in the United Nations. My former Minister of Defense, Claudius Bellringer, the butcher of St. John’s, has been sent to The Hague to await trial by the International Criminal Court. Edward Snowden will be sent back to the United States to receive pardon. North Pole authorities will help in the reconstruction of St. John’s, and all mass surveillance programs will be severely curtailed as per a United Nations treaty. I will continue to send gifts to all, as they deserve it.”

Another reporter asked, “what was Bellringer’s plan?”

“He wanted to cause nuclear war, destroying a good portion of humanity in the process in the name of punishing the naughty. We do not punish with death, only with coal in the stocking. And we do not light it.”

Yet a third asked, “have you anything to do with the massive amount of coal found in the houses of various government officials, such as Generals Hayden and Alexander, President Obama, Prime Ministers Harper and Cameron, and President Putin?”

Claus snickered. “I have no comment on the matter.”